


moving day

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eating Together, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-10-01 23:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: When Martin offered to help him move into the new flat, Jon– tired, lonely, disconnected from reality and people, quietly trusting of Martin for some time now– just… let him.





	moving day

When Martin offered to help him move into the new flat, Jon– tired, lonely, disconnected from reality and people, quietly trusting of Martin for some time now– just… let him. For what it was worth, anyway; he hardly had anything to move, leaving behind a flat he’d been told was bare bones as was. He had the mattress, the small CRT television, dishes, a few trinkets, clothes. Georgie had given him some things that she no longer needed, but it was, all in all… an oddly pathetic affair, after everything.

“It’s a nice flat,” Martin said anyway, and set down a box of cassette tapes. “It’s cosy.”

“Cosy’s just another word for _ tiny,” _ Jon pointed out.

“No.” Martin’s voice was stubborn, like it mattered, like any of this mattered. Like Jon would spend that much time at home, anyway. “Cosy is cosy. It’s… nice. _ Comfortable. _ Tiny is, like, unlivable… living space.”

“Unlivable living space…”

The noise in return was _ tiny _ and vaguely disgruntled, but Martin almost looked a bit flush as he straightened up from fitting the box in neater against the wall. “You know what I mean,” he complained, awkward and halfhearted.

Jon wasn’t… making fun of him. Truly. He’d like to think he’d moved past the days of plucking every one of Martin’s insecurities and ineptitudes from the void. God knew that they all had too many of them to count, and Martin’s company had become… quite valued. It was nice to have someone to trust. Someone who remained unchanged despite what the Institute kept throwing at them.

Sometimes, Jon thought Martin was the only unchangeable aspect in all of this mess. That was nice, these days.

“I’m teasing, Martin,” he said quietly. “Although I’m not… very good at it, I suppose.”

Was Jon _ really _ so bad, though? He supposed he was, if Martin’s little head tilt and blink was anything to go by. Then Martin laughed, even more awkward, and dragged his hand through his hair. “Sorry– yeah, course,” he apologized.

“I don’t think I’m very good at _ people _ lately,” Jon added.

Martin only stared for a second, and then immediately started shaking his head. “No, you’re– G–God, I can’t imagine, Jon, after everything with Leitner and Elias– I just… _ I’m _ sorry.”

Jon wondered if, one day, Martin would ever run out of patience for making apologies for other people. If he’d stop taking the blame on himself. Jon… _ hoped, _ but then he wasn’t in the practice of making healthy decisions for himself, either, so he couldn’t pass that kind of judgment down. He didn’t want to, even.

He was still formulating a response when, over the hum of the radiator at the window, Martin’s stomach growled.

This time, Jon blinked owlishly, and the blush on Martin’s face spread stark beneath his freckles.

“Err– sorry, I didn’t have time to eat–”

Apologies again. This time, because he hadn’t had time to eat because he’d come to help Jon _ move. _

Jon made a split decision. “Let me make you dinner.” Martin stared like he’d sprouted a third eye, and Jon only _ slightly _ faltered. “I mean– that is– I don’t… actually have _ food _ here, yet,” _ or cooking utensils or silverware unpacked, _ he added mentally, “but we can order in. Something. Curry, or pizza. Or whatever you’d like.”

“You’re… buying me dinner?”

“I–” In that moment, connotations caught up. There was no forgetting the girls gossiping on the tapes, there was no… misinterpreting loyalty on Martin’s behalf, and Jon had to stop and clench his teeth because he didn’t _ know _ how to navigate this. He… wasn’t positive of what he wanted, if anything, beyond the companionship he still was lucky enough to have from Martin. He desperately did not want to ruin this.

But he did want to get him dinner, if nothing else. That much he did know. “Yes,” he finished, definitively. _ I think it’s the least I can do. _

“Okay, um.” Martin smiled, a little uncertain, and sheepish, and a little… excited, maybe. “Pizza’s fine. D’you want pizza?”

Jon nodded. “Pizza’s fine,” he repeated.

“Domino’s?”

“Sure.”

“Alright! Let me just– there’s probably some deals, actually,” Martin said, pulling out his phone. “Let’s see–”

“I can’t believe you’ve never had the cookie dough from Pizza Hut.”

“’m nod–” Jon swallowed before trying again, peeling another piece of bread from the dough ball, and trying to stop the melted cheese falling on his trousers. “I’m not particularly _ adventurous _ when it comes to takeaway. My orders never change and I’m not really expecting _ cookie dough _ at a pizza place, am I?”

“It’s _ so _ good, though.” Martin took another bite of pizza. Thoughtfully licked sauce from his fingers and splayed his free hand back against the floor. “You should try it, when you order there again.”

“Maybe,” Jon agreed, without any real conviction.

He was more interested in just… watching Martin, he supposed, insofar in as it went _ not _being in the odd way. He didn’t have proper furniture, so they’d settled in the middle of the generally empty sitting room floor, two pizzas, cheesy knots, chocolate melts, and fizzy drinks between them. Jon had moved onto the bread, and Martin was on his fourth piece of pizza, chattering away happily about Jon’s lack of range in takeaway and how they all ought to have (have had) a pizza night at the Institute, and made their own pizzas.

Jon didn’t have the heart to tell him that that _ probably _ wouldn’t happen nowadays. Besides, he was pretty sure Martin knew. He was, after all, the only one asides Georgie who’d offered to help him move flats.

“Not that we should really _ be _ eating so much takeaway, but–”

“I think I’m due for a little takeaway,” Jon interrupted, with a tiny smile. “Georgie fed me well enough, these past few weeks.” Probably the best meals he’d had, there for a while.

“Oh, that’s good. Tell her thanks for me, will you?”

“For feeding me?”

“For taking care of you.” Martin abandoned his crust, wiping his fingers on the flimsy paper napkins. “When we couldn’t– when– when you needed us, and we couldn’t.”

“Martin…”

“I’m serious.”

That wasn’t in question. Jon knew. Self awareness wasn’t a strong suit, but, oh, he knew intimately nowadays, just how serious Martin was. “Let’s go back to your shaming of my takeaway habits, yes?” He said it partially to derail Martin’s self-pity. He also said it partially to stop himself overthinking again.

“I’m not _ shaming _ you,” Martin protested. “I’m just– it’s _ cookie dough, _ Jon, and you love sweets!”

“We got the chocolate cake things, what more do you want? Don’t say cookie dough,” he added quickly, teasing again in his way.

Martin understood, and beamed. The brief discomfort of a moment ago was almost gone. Not quite. But good enough. “Next time,” he promised, and Jon scoffed, but smiled, and reached for the box of miniature molten lava cakes.

Martin launched back into some topic, inane and… _ good, _ and Jon licked chocolate and icing sugar from his fingers, and it was companionable, and enjoyable, and a very good way to break in the new flat indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to emperio, who gave me a rando prompt so I could write JM. Also Pizza Hut UK's menu startles the American in me because you can apparently buy milkshakes and WINE? and cookie dough. wtf? i am jealous


End file.
